Titanic Final Fantasy XIII style
by Iscreamer1
Summary: For the 100th anneversary of the Titanic's departure, I give you the movie, Final Fantasy XIII -2 style. (on hiatus)


On the pier horsedrawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries move slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere is one of excitement and general giddiness. People embrace in tearful farewells, or wave and shout bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

A white RENAULT, leading a silver-gray DAIMLER-BENZ, pushes through the crowd leaving a wake in the press of people. Around the handsome cars people are streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers, porters, and barking WHITE STAR LINE officials.

The Renault stops and the LIVERIED DRIVER scurries to open the door for a YOUNG WOMAN dressed in a stunning white and purple outfit, with an enormous feathered hat. She is 19 years old and beautiful, regal of bearing, with piercing eyes.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania." Serah says flatly.

A personal valet opens the door on the other side of the car for Snow Villiers, the 21 year old heir to the elder Villiers' fortune. 'Snow' is handsome, arrogant and rich beyond meaning.

"You can be blase about some things, Serah, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian cafe... even Turkish baths." Cal turns and fives his hand to Serah's sister, Lightning Éclair Farron, who descends from the touring car being him. Lightning is a 20ish society empress, from one of the most prominent Philadelphia families. She is a widow, and rules her household with iron will. "Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Light." He says politely.

Gazing at the leviathan, Lightning talks to Snow, "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable."

"It is unsinkable. God himself couldn't sink this ship." Snow speaks with the pride of a host providing a special experience. This entire entourage of rich Americans is impeccably turned out, a quintessential example of the Edwardian upper class, complete with servants. Snow's valet, Cadot, is a tall and impassive, dour as an undertaker. Behind him emerge Hope and Nora Estheim, personal servants to Lightning and Serah. A White Star Line porter scurries toward them, harried by last minute loading.

"Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way-" Snow nonchalantly hands the man a fiver. The porter's eyes dilate. Five pounds was a monster tip in those days.

"I put my faith in you, good sir." Snow says simply.

"Yes, sir. My pleasure, sir."

Snow never tires of the effect of money on the unwashed masses.

"These trunks here, and 12 more in the Daimler. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms." Cadot tells the porter

The White Star man looks stricken when he sees the enormous pile of steamer trunks and suitcases loading down the second car, including wooden crates and steel safe. He whistles frantically for some cargo-handlers nearby who come running.

Draco breezes on, leaving the minions to scramble. He quickly checks his pocket watch. "We'd better hurry. This way, ladies." He says to the women. He indicates the way toward the first class gangway. They move into the crowd. Hope, Serah's kitchen boy, hustles behind them, laden with bags of her mistress's most recent purchases... things too delicate for the baggage handlers.

Snow leads, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying passengers (mostly second class and steerage) and well-wishers. Most of the first class passengers are avoiding the smelly press of the dockside crowd by using an elevated boarding bridge, twenty feet above.

They pass a line of steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds, queued up inside movable barriers like cattle in a chute. A health officer examines their heads one by one, checking scalp and eyelashes for lice.

They pass a well-dressed young man cranking the handle of a wooden Biograph "cinematograph" camera mounted on a tripod. NANIEL MARVIN (whose father founded the Biograph Film Studio) is filming his young bride in front of the Titanic. MARY MARVIN stands stiffly and smiles, self conscious.

"Look up at the ship, darling, that's it. You're amazed! You can't believe how big it is! Like a mountain. That's great." Daniel says to the bride.

Mary Marvin, without an acting fiber in her body, does a bad Clara Bow pantomime of awe, hands raised.

Snow is jostled by two yelling steerage boys who shove past him. And he is bumped again a second later by the boys' father.

"Steady!" Snow yells at them angrily.

"Sorry squire!" The man yells back at him annoyed.

The Cockney father pushes on, after his kids, shouting.

"Steerage swine. Apparently missed his annual bath." Snow says annoyed.

"Honestly, Snow, if you weren't forever booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family." Lightning politely says.

"All part of my charm, Light. At any rate, it was my darling fiancée's beauty rituals which made us late." Snow says indicating it was Serah's fault.

"You told me to change." Serah says irritably.

"I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweetpea. It's bad luck." Snow says.

"I felt like black." Serah snapped.

Snow guides them out of the path of a horse-drawn wagon loaded down with two tons of OXFORD MARMALADE, in wooden cases, for Titanic's Victualling Department.

"Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites... and you act as if you're going to your execution." Snow said irritably.

Serah looks up as the hull of Titanic looms over them...a great iron wall, Bible black and sever. Snow motions her forward, and she enters the gangway to the D Deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread.

A VIEW OF TITANIC from several blocks away, towering above the terminal buildings like the skyline of a city. The steamer's whistle echoes across Southampton.

PULL BACK, revealing that we were looking through a window, and back further to show the smoky inside of a pub. It is crowded with dockworkers and ship;s crew.

Just inside the window, a poker game is in progress. four men, in working class clothes, play a very serious hand.

Noel Kreiss and Sazh Katzroy, both about 20, exchange a glance as the other two players argue in Swedish. Noel is American, a lanky drifter with his hair a little long for the standards of the times. He is also unshaven, and his clothes are rumpled from sleeping in them. He is an artist, and has adopted the bohemian style of art scene in Paris. He is also very self-possessed and sure-footed for 20, having lived on his own since 15.

The two swedes continue their sullen argument, in Swedish.

"You stupid fishhead. I can't believe you bet our tickets." He says in Swedish.

"You lost our money. I'm just trying to get it back. Now shut up and take a card." The other man says, also in Swedish.

"Hit me again, Sven." Noel says cockily.

Noel takes the card and slips it into his hand.

Sazh is licking his lips nervously as he refuses a card.

Ecu, the other sweden stacks in the middle of the table. Bills and coins from four countries. This has been going on for a while. Sitting on top of the money are two 3rd class tickets for the Titanic.

The Titanic's whistle blows again. Final warning.

"The moment of truth boys. Somebody's life's about to change." Noel says.

Ron puts his cards down. So do the Swedes. Noel holds his close.

"Let's see... Sazh's got niente. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh oh... two pair... mmm." Noel says nervously, he turns to his friend, "Sorry Sazh."

"What sorry? What you got? You lose my money? Ma va fa'n culo testa di cazzo-" Sazh screams, but Noel interrupts him.

"Sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time..." He slaps a full house down on the table. Noel grins boyishly, "'Cause you're goin' to America! Full house boys!"

"Porca Madonna! YEEAAAAA!" Sazh screams happily. The table explodes into shouting in several languages. Noel rakes in the money and the tickets.

"Sorry boys. Three of a kind and a pair. I'm high and you're dry and..." Noel says to the Swedes before turning to Sazh, "we're going to-" Sazh and Noel both yell loudly, "L'AMERICA!"

Olaf balls up one huge farmer's fist. We think he's going to clobber Noel, but he swings round and punches Sven, who flops backward onto the floor and sits there, looking depressed. Olaf forgets about Noel and Sazh, who are dancing around, and goes into a rapid harangue of his stupid cousin.

Noel kisses the tickets, then jumps on Sazh's back and rides him around the pub. It's like they won the lottery.

"Goin' home... to the land o' the free and the home of the real hot-dogs! On the TITANIC! We're ridin' in high style now! We're practically goddamned royalty, ragazzo mio!" Harry smiles proudly.

" You see? Is my destinio! Like I told you. I go to l'America! To be a millionaire!" Ron says to no one in particular "Capito? I go to America!"

"No, mate. Titanic go to America. In five minutes." The pubkeeper replies to the boys, pointing at the clock.

Noel and Sazh grab all their stuff and grin as the walk "It's been grand." They run for the door.

"'Course I'm sure if they knew it was you lot comin', they'd be pleased to wait!" the pubkeeper says to everyone.

CUT TO:

Noel and Sazh, carrying everything they own in the world in the kit bags on their shoulders, sprint toward the pier. They tear through milling crowds next to the terminal. Shouts go up behind them as they jostle slow-moving gentlemen. They dodge piles of luggage, and weave through groups of people. They burst out onto the pier and Noel comes to a dead stop... staring at the cast wall of the ship's hull, towering seven stories above the wharf and over an eighth of a mile long. The Titanic is monstrous.

Sazh runs back and grabs Noel, and they sprint toward the third class gangway aft, at E deck. They reach the bottom of the ramp just as SIXTH OFFICER AMODAR detaches it at the top. It starts to swing down from the gangway doors.

"Wait! We're passengers!" Noel is now flushed and panting, he waves the tickets.

"Have you been through the inspection queue?"

"Of course! Anyway, we don't have lice, we're Americans." Noel glances at Sazh, "Both of us."

"Right, come aboard." Amodar says testy.

Moody has QUARTERMASTER ROWE reattach the gangway. Noel and Sazh come aboard. Moody glances at the tickets, then passes Noel and Sazh through to Rowe. Rowe looks at the names on the tickets to enter them in the passenger list.

"Gundersen. And...," reading Sazh's "Gundersen." He hands the tickets back, eyeing Sazh's Mediterranean looks suspiciously.

Noel grabs Sazh's arm "Come on, Sazh."

Noel and Sazh whoop with victory as they run down the white-painted corridor... grinning from ear to ear.

"We are the luckiest sons of bitches in the world!" Noel says.

The mooring lines, as big around as a man's arm, are dropped into the water. A cheer goes up on the pier as tugs pull the Titanic away from the quay. Sazh and Noel burst through a door onto the aft well deck. TRACKING WITH THEM as they run across the deck and up the steel stairs to the poop deck. They get to the rail and Noel starts to yell and wave to the crowd on the dock.

"You know somebody?" Sazh asks.

"Of course not. That's not the point." Noel replys, he then turns back to the crowd, "Goodbye! Goodbye! I'll miss you!"

Grinning, Sazh joins in, adding his voice to the swell of voices, feeling the exhilaration of the moment.

"Goodbye! I will never forget you!" Sazh yells.

The crowd of cheering well-wishers waves heartily as a black wall of metal moves past them. Impossibly tiny figues wave back from the ship's rails. Titanic gathers speed.

The prow of Titanic FILLS FRAME behind the lead tug, which is dwarfed. The bow wave spreads before the mighty plow of the liner's hull as it moves down the River Test toward the English Channel.

Noel and Sazh walk down a narrow corridor with doors lining both sides like a college dorm. Total confusion as people argue over luggage in several languages, or wander in confusion in the labyrinth. They pass emigrants studying the signs over the doors, and looking up the words in phrase books.

They find their berth. It is a modest cubicle, painted enamel white, with four bunks. Exposed pipes overhead. The other two guys are already there. OLAUS and BJORN GUNDERSEN.

Noel throws his kit on one open bunk, while Sazh takes the other.

"Where is Sven?" Bjorn asks in Swedish.

By contrast, the so-called "Millionaire Suite" is in the Empire style, and comprises two bedrooms, a bath, WC, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition there is a private 50 foot promenade deck outside.

A room service waiter pours champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and hands the Bucks Fizz to Serah. She is looking through her new paintings. There is a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few abstract works. They are all unknown paintings... lost works.

Snow is out on the covered deck, which has potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Serah in the sitting room.

"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money." Snow sneers.

Serah looks at a cubist portrait "You're wrong. They're fascinating. Like in a dream... there's truth without logic. What's his name again... ?" She reads off the canvas, "Picasso."

Snow comes into the sitting room, "He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."

A porter wheels Snow's private safe into the room on a handtruck.

"Put that in the wardrobe." Snow says immediately.

In the bedroom, Serah enters with the large Degas of the dancers. She sets it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Hope is already in there, hanging up some of Serah's clothes.

"It smells so brand new. Like they built it all just for us. I mean... just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first-" Hope whispers.

Snow appears in the doorway of the bedroom. Looking at Serah, Snow sneers, "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."

Hope blushes at the innuendo "S'cuse me, Miss." He edges around Snow and makes a quick exit. Hopecomes up behind Serah and puts his hands on her shoulders. An act of possession, not intimacy. "The first and only. Forever."

Serah's expression shows how bleak a prospect this is for her, now.

Titanic stands silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. She is lit up like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflect in the calm harbor waters. The 150 foot tender Nomadic lies-to alongside, looking like a rowboat. The lights of a Cherbourg harbor complete the postcard image.

Entering the first class reception room from the tender are a number of prominent passengers. A BROAD-SHOULDERED WOMAN in an enormous feathered hat comes up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter running to catch up with her to take the bags.

"Well, I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny. Take 'em the rest of the way if you think you can manage." The lady says.


End file.
